


moonlight

by kingblake



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Holding Hands, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 20:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13688913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingblake/pseuds/kingblake
Summary: Inej leans forwards on her toes, tilting her face into the wind. It’s less of a whip, now, and more of a kiss -- raising the hair on her arms and caressing her cheeks with gentle fingers. “Don’t worry about it,” she murmurs. “Happens to the best of us.”He hums thoughtfully. “Not to me, Inej Ghafa. Not to me.”She’s almost startled -- he hardly ever calls her by her full name. At this point, however, she can’t expect him not to surprise her.“And why did it?” She asks, turning to face him. “Why did it happen to you?”- or -In a universe in which Inej stays away from Ketterdam for several years before returning. She and Kaz have changed; but will they still remember one another in the way they once had?





	moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starscraping](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starscraping/gifts).



> a short fic for my dearest roo. happy valentine's day!

Inej finds solace on the rooftops. 

 

Aboard the  _ Wraith _ , hunting slavers and thieves, the stars are endless and vast. The ocean is crystalline and sparkling with life, backlit by hundreds —  _ thousands _ — of stars. Of course, Ketterdam has never been the place to find a sunset or a shining starlit sky, but it’s as close as Inej has gotten in several years. 

 

Here, in Ketterdam, they’re muted. Invisible. Little flames of magnificence snubbed out by smog and pollution and the stench of decay that wraps clawlike fingers around the canals and harbors, choking out every last bit of brightness and hope that the citizens of Kerch could ever dare to muster. She’s found that the sky, like a mother, is a comfort in times of turmoil — the moon is a friend of hers, wise and ever-present — a light in the darkest of times. 

 

When the days choked into nights and the slavers became too awful to bear, Inej would return to Ketterdam. Not for the relief, not for the stars, not for the familiarity of the spired rooftops and sloping streets — but for  _ them _ — the stars who needed no astral gas or cosmic flame to burn. They were brighter than anything else — beacons of comfort when Inej needed them the most.

 

When she can, Inej takes up residence at the Van Eck estate. She’s had her fair share of run-ins with the mercher’s infernal family, but Wylan welcomes her with open arms and a sheepish smile. It’s been a few years since she’s set out on her mission to destroy the slaving system, and he’s grown into himself — just as she suspects she’s grown, as well. He’s taller, nearly as tall as his Zemeni counterpart, and even though he keeps them short, his curls glint like spun gold in the sunlight. Jesper; all knees and elbows and narrow shoulders, looks the same as he always has — his wide grin and easy demeanor haven’t changed at all, down to the way he touches his twin revolvers for courage. She stays with them for a while, recounting stories of the sea, catching up, sharing laughs over simple topics and not much else. 

 

And while it’s good to be home — although it’s not really  _ home _ , is it? — Inej thinks she might need some time on her own — a quiet place, somewhere to let her muscles uncoil and breathe deeply despite what her nervous mind might have her do. 

 

So she finds solace in the rooftops. 

 

Tonight, she’s scaled the walls of the Slat — a climb as familiar to her as the back of her own hand and as simple as buttering a pan. Her toes find the same old notches and holes and her fingers, long and slender as ever, seek new ones — worn by wind and weather and the stray gunshots that threaten every corner of the Barrel. The climb is swift and the retribution is easy. Crawling on her hands and toes, she becomes every inch the spider she’d always been likened to. 

 

Only now, she doesn’t trade in secrets — she trades in the lives of those who think of no lives but their own. She takes their throats in her fists and kisses her blades before cutting their hands to ribbons. Too long have they used their hands for harm — now, they won’t use their hands  _ ever _ again. 

 

The wind on the roof is unforgiving — it cracks like a whip through the shingling and runs its icy fingers through Inej’s braid, whooping and howling like a pack of wolves. It’s cold — enough to send a shiver hurtling down Inej’s spine — but she’s seen worse. The roaring is almost comforting, white noise against a smoky sky. And yet —

 

It’s lonely. 

 

She longs for isolation — to be alone, to allow her thoughts and feelings to crash over her like a tidal wave. But she’s lonely — there’s a hole filling the roar of the wind, one she’s not so sure can be filled on her own. 

 

And then — like  _ clockwork _ — the back of her neck prickles and her heart thuds against her ribcage. It knows. It  _ knows _ .

 

“Back so soon?” Comes a voice, just over her shoulder. It doesn’t startle her; it never does. It’s the voice of a wolf — gritty, deep, underlaid with a growl so low it might have been shot through a meat grinder. 

 

Inej turns from where she stands, brows lifted.  _ That’s it, _ she thinks.  _ That’s the hole. _

 

Kaz, like the others, has changed. 

 

There are three things Inej notices about him in the few seconds it takes her to face him —

 

One — his hair is longer. 

 

_ Exponentially  _ so. When she’d known him as a girl, he’d kept it shorn on the underside, severely smooth on the top — a hard-edged style for a hard-edged boy. Jesper had never let Kaz hear the end of it, making fun of the hairstyle at every opportunity he got. It was a fearsome haircut though, a haircut that belonged on a boy just like Kaz. Sharp. Meticulous. Severe.

 

Now, though -- it almost shocks her into submission. He’s taller than he was -- maybe by a few inches, and though his black suit is just as smoothly tailored as ever, his hair has grown into soft, easy black waves; curling at his ears and brushing the collar of his coat. The wind lifts his hair away from his forehead, and his eyes, dark as ever, are fixed on Inej. And then -- sudden and unexpected as a bolt of lighting, a smile cracks across his face, lopsided and boyish. 

 

But it’s gone just as soon.

 

In another instant, Inej’s eyes fall upon his hands -- startlingly bare, void of leather trappings to encase his fingers in a layer of protection. His nimble fingers are wrapped around the head of his cane, polished and glinting in the low moonlight. It’s been ages since she’s seen him without his gloves, plain and black and menacing with the fingertips cut to allow for better sleight of hand. She fights a frown -- he can’t have gotten over his aversion, not so quickly -- not  _ him _ . It’s not in his nature -- it’s out of his  _ character _ . 

 

And yet, here he is, standing proud before her, eyes glinting with some new light. Some unfamiliarity in a world of comfort. 

 

Her gaze catches upon the folds of his shirt, of all places -- but for a woman whose biggest strength is noticing the invisible, it’s a given. His chest is heaving -- as if he’s out of breath, as if he’s --

 

No.

 

_ No. _

 

It can’t be. He’s windblown, he’s  _ softer, _ somehow, and he’s here, on the  _ roof _ , with Inej. He must have climbed, somehow. It would have taken a lot out of him, especially with his leg. It’s the only explanation -- it has to be. He can’t  _ still  _ \--

 

After all these years.

 

“Not soon enough,” Inej admits with a shrug. 

 

“You’ve grown,” he says. His eyes drift down her body, but not in a way that makes her uncomfortable. It’s an assessment -- a sizing-up, of sorts. He doesn’t look at her like those men in the menagerie. He never has, and he certainly never will. 

 

“So have you.” She makes an absent gesture at his frame, silhouetted by the moon. “You’re taller.”

 

He laughs, low and easy. “I meant, ah,” he waves. “Spiritually. You look healthier.”

 

This time, it’s her turn to laugh. And then, in a flat deadpan -- “It’s the blood of my enemies. Does wonders for my skin.”

 

“I bet,” he muses. His eyes drift to the horizon, and Inej follows his gaze. The moon is beginning to slant through a break in the smog, and it falls upon his cheeks, highlighting the sharp hollows of his face. He looks otherworldly, like some vengeful god come to walk amongst his people.

 

“The ocean’s treated you well, Inej.” He says, drawing nearer to her. They stand next to one another on the roof, and if there were anyone around to see, they might look upon the conjoined silhouette of two souls -- backs bowed with the weight of a childhood lost and long nights gone unslept. 

 

“Money’s treated you well,” she says with a smile.

 

He looks down at her -- eyebrows lifted. “You could say that.” He waves at the rooftop below them. “The Crow Club is thriving. My ranks are growing every day. My coffers, too.”

 

She slides her hands into her pockets. “I don’t mean that.” Her eyes drift to his bare hands, resting easily on the head of his cane. His gaze follows hers, and his mouth tightens.

 

“I didn’t --” for once, he seems to be at a loss for words. “I don’t --” 

 

“Kaz Brekker,” she coos, because she knows it will poke at him like a fly will poke at a horse. “Did you forget to put your gloves on?”

 

He looks away from her, and Inej swears she can see a flush rising on his cheeks. He must have been in a  _ hurry _ to get up here if he’d forgotten his gloves, of  _ all _ things. 

 

Inej leans forwards on her toes, tilting her face into the wind. It’s less of a whip, now, and more of a kiss -- raising the hair on her arms and caressing her cheeks with gentle fingers. “Don’t worry about it,” she murmurs. “Happens to the best of us.”

 

He hums thoughtfully. “Not to me, Inej Ghafa. Not to me.”

 

She’s almost startled -- he hardly ever calls her by her full name. At this point, however, she can’t expect him not to surprise her. 

 

“And why did it?” She asks, turning to face him. “Why did it happen to you?”

 

The wind catches a curl and blows it across his forehead. It’s possible that this isn’t how he normally keeps it -- maybe he still combs it back -- maybe he’d forgotten to touch up when he’d come up here. It’s a good look for him, either way. He’s softer somehow -- matured. 

 

“Because,” he mutters, so quietly she almost doesn’t catch it. “I wanted to see you. To --” he looks down. “To  _ show  _ you.”

 

His eyes drift to her hands, tucked gently into the pockets of her vest. It’s an unspoken question, but one that Inej knows well. 

 

She slips a hand from its pocket and extends it -- palm up, fingers splayed. An old gesture, unfamiliar at most. Slowly, like a cat stretching into the sunlight, he brings his hand to hers. The light of the moon illuminates the fine bones and veins beneath his pale skin and Inej, as always, is startled by the tenderness with which he touches her. 

 

She expects him to gag -- to reel backwards like a wire snapped from its cable. But the most he offers her is a squint; a tightening of his shoulders. He’s miles away from the fearful boy he’d once been, and it shows. She squeezes his fingers, testing the waters -- and after a moment, he squeezes back. A grin breaks across Inej’s face. It’s radiant, a beam of brightness in the middle of the dark night. 

 

Kaz looks triumphant, mouth bent into a proud smile, chin tilted back. 

 

“Kaz!” Inej says, unable to contain her excitement. She’s proud of him,  _ unbelievably _ proud -- “That’s awesome, how did you --”

 

She stops -- not because she’s at a loss for words, but because his other hand has captured her chin. 

 

“I never quit thinking about you,” he mutters, like an afterthought. “Not once.”

 

His eyes are dark with something Inej doesn’t recognize. It doesn’t scare her, though. It’s not anger, it’s not hatred, it’s not  _ disinterest _ . He looks like he’s trying to solve her; like she’s a mountain he can’t climb. The wind tosses his hair back, and she wonders if it’s as obvious to him as it is to her. 

 

“Kaz…” she says. It’s not a warning. It’s a coax.  _ Come closer, _ she thinks.  _ Don’t make me do it for you. _

 

Like he’s read her mind, he draws forwards. He smells like coffee and teakwood, and Inej drinks him in, a starving woman just before a feast. His hand is cradling her chin, and his eyelids are fluttering. 

 

Inej fights a smile -- giddy, wonderful, the joy of a childhood crush crashing into her body wave by overwhelming wave. They’re caught in a dance, a waltz that’s unending, and it’s swelling to a crescendo. His neck bends. He’s close enough, now, that the gentle waves of his hair brush her forehead.

 

“Inej,” he echoes, and she’s shocked into stillness. He says her name like a sinner says the name of his god; reverent, a voice laced with enough raw emotion to send tears springing to her eyes. And then he tilts his chin down --

 

Their lips meet in a burst of color and light. Inej melts like a candle -- her grip on his hand loosens and her free hand slides in a desperate attempt up the flat plane of his chest. Her hand hovers over his heart -- and she laughs under his lips when she feels it, thundering like a mustang against her palm. He pulls away, only briefly, brow dipped into a furrow. 

 

“What?” He asks, cheeks flushed beet-red.

 

“Nothing,” she says, a laugh bubbling into her throat. 

 

With a shrug, he reconnects -- and they stay that way, unable to discern where Inej ends and Kaz begins. 

 

Silhouetted against the moon, eclipsed with years of feelings gone unspoken -- they find one another again. A boy and a girl -- washed in moonlight.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think! it's been a while since i've written these two and i absolutely adore them. catch me on twitter @kimstaehygun!


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